


Narrow Streets and Narrower Escapes

by ScaryScarecrows



Series: Gaslights [1]
Category: Gotham By Gaslight
Genre: Gallows Humor (courtesy of Jason), Gen, Gotham by Gaslight 'verse, In case 'Jack the Ripper' wasn't clear, Suspense, mentions of blood and death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 03:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13695810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaryScarecrows/pseuds/ScaryScarecrows
Summary: They’ve walked maybe a block and a half when she feels it, feels the cold autumn breeze whisper, death is coming. Tim pulls on her skirt and whispers, “Someone’s behind us.”“Shh. Keep moving, don’t look.”The Ripper stalks Gotham's streets.





	Narrow Streets and Narrower Escapes

**Author's Note:**

> GbG had all my favs in there. Sherlock Holmes references. Serial killers. (VICTORIAN serial killers.) Batman. So. I wanted to play in the sandbox. That, coupled with my double bout of sleep paralysis last night, spawned this. Think I'll muck around, maybe see what else this 'verse has to offer, but you can have this for now.

It’s been a nasty, dirty, wet day that’s given way to a nastier, dirtier, wetter night. That, combined with the general unease of being out after sundown (the Ripper, the Bat, who knows which one’ll catch you first), makes the streets nearly deserted. There’s a storm coming in from the sea-the scent of frothing waves, pushing dead things to the surface, is unmistakable.

Dove Marquis wishes she didn’t have to be out here, but the boss had some…private…letters that needed delivering, so here she is. She’ll be fine. Yeah, one of those letters was in what some of the staff are calling ‘Hell’s Waiting Room’, but it’ll be fine. She’s done now, she’s going home. She is actively speed-walking home right this second.

So of course something goes wrong.

It doesn’t start out going wrong. It starts out because she hears voices-familiar voices-and takes a detour to find some of Penguin’s younger informants-well, part time informants-huddled in an alley.

“What are you boys doing out?”

Normally the answer is ‘nothing’ or maybe a cheeky ‘no good’, but this time it’s the **schwit-schwit!** of switchblades, followed immediately after by, “Shit, sorry, Miss M-s’just I didn’t ‘ear ya come up an’-”

“Dick, what’s going on?”

There’s the clip-clop of horse’s hooves in the distance, carried by the fog, and the boys flinch. Well. Tim and Dick flinch. Jason, she can see now that she’s closer, is just still, propped awkwardly against a stack of crates. Okay, that’s odd. Usually he’s the first one to mouth off.

“Jay got-” Dick swallows, returns his knife to his sleeve. “Involved. In something. There was. There was a scream. Few streets over that way. And you know Jason, he’s always gotta _look_ , and he was gone before I could knock some sense into him, and by the time we caught up to him there was.” He gulps, face pale. “There was a man, a big one, a-and he was standin’ over a woman and it smelled like _the slaughterhouse-_ ”

“Okay, kid, lemme see.” She moves him aside. “Lemme just…”

Oh.

This is bad.

‘Involved’ in street-kid terms can have a lot of meanings. Usually it’s code for ‘works for a gang now’, but not always. This time, it means Jason (typical…) ended up with a knife just under his ribs. She can’t tell if he’s conscious or not, but he’s breathing-a raspy, rattley noise. Tim’s clinging to his hand and that’s worrying enough on its own-they argue _constantly_. Half the time the bruises they’ve got are from each other, for crying out loud.

“A woman?” she asks, and Dick nods, glances down the alley and pulls Tim over to him so Dove can crouch down. Either it’s a small knife or a deep wound-the thing’s in him up to the hilt and she’s not willing to remove it. Not out here, anyway. “What happened after you got there?”

“Jay wasn’t moving, but the man…I dunno what happened, but he was bent over an’ clutchin’ his knee like he’d hurt it, so we grabbed ‘im and got the hell outta there but _I dunno where he is-_ ”

“Okay, Dick, okay.” A panicked Dick is a chatterbox Dick, and these streets are far too empty. Voices carry too easily right now and she’s beginning to have an idea as to who they saw and what he was doing. “I want you to hold my umbrella-careful, it’s one of Mister Cobblepot’s custom-made ones-and Tim, I’m going to give you my keys, all right? We’re going to want the brass one with the bird’s head on top. _That’s_ right.” She leans over and taps Jason’s cheek until his eyes crack open. “I’m gonna pick you up, okay?”

No answer, but he gasps when she gets him up, heavy-limbed and trembling, and mumbles, “Buy ya a drink?”

At least he’s with it enough to be a smartass.

“No.”

“Buy _me_ a drink?”

“Absolutely not.” He makes a disgusted noise and drops his head against her shoulder. “Okay, boys, come on. Just a few blocks, up to where the streets change, you know.”

Tim reaches up to latch onto Jason’s sleeve. Dick’s clearly trying to be calm, but he’s still in her personal space, umbrella held awkwardly away from him. It’s quiet tonight, no sign of anyone or anything, and Dove thinks maybe, just maybe, they’ll be all right. Maybe Jack’s gone back to whatever he was doing and she can get this lot somewhere safe and get a doctor for Jason. She’s thinking it must be a small blade, pocket-knife sized, maybe-it hasn’t…it hasn’t gone through. She’s seen that, once. Full impalement, and they went to pick the kid up and the blade just…the positioning, maybe, wasn’t right, but the tip of the knife sort of just popped out next to his spine.

“M’all right, Timmy. Jus’. Jus’ a pinprick, tha’s all.”

She’s not sure, exactly, how Tim ended up out here, but he’s a bright little thing. Had some education, once. Which is very unfortunate now.

“The odds of developing sepsis are severe due to the location of the-”

“Shut up, Tim.” Jason grimaces at the brightness as they walk under a lamp. “M’not gonna. End up with sepsis.”

“We’re all at risk due to our living situation-”

“Tim,” she starts, but he’s on a roll now.

“And you don’t take care of yourself _at all_ , so-”

Dick finally cuts in.

“Jay’s not gonna get sepsis, Tim. Stop scarin’ ‘im.”

“M’not scared.”

“Don’t help.”

“Mm.” He shivers and she wishes, a little, that she’d wrapped him in her coat but really, the less she has to jostle him, the better. Being carried can’t be good for him, but it was that, or leave him for dead and unlike some people in this town, she’s not that awful of a person. “W’tev’r. Shut up, Tim.”

“Boys, behave.”

Dick looks imploringly at the sky in that manner of every older brother she’s ever seen. It is the look of ‘what did I do to deserve this suffering?’

They’ve walked maybe a block and a half when she _feels_ it, feels the cold autumn breeze whisper _death is coming_. Tim pulls on her skirt and whispers, “Someone’s behind us.”

“Shh. Keep moving, don’t look.”

“But-”

“The address,” she says, as though he hasn’t spoken, “is six forty-two Adam’s Lane. You want the house with the bird-shaped knocker.”

“Okay, but-”

“I want you to _run_ , do you hear me? I’ll be right behind you, but if one of you’s there to get the door open that’d be best.”

Tim opens his mouth, probably to argue (he’s the Cute One, which is a disguise for the fact that he’s a stubborn little shit) and Dick grabs his hand.

“Okay.”

“Go.”

And then they’re gone, pounding down the street like the hounds of Hell are on their heels (and maybe that’s what this is, after all).

She has a knife. Fat lot of good it does now-her hands are a little full and it lives in the folds of her skirt. If she’s being honest, she doesn’t think it would do much good anyway.

“Don’t suppose you have a knife.” she says, picking up her pace and pretending the footsteps behind her don’t do the same. Jason winces and mumbles, “Chest.”

What-

That little _brat_ -if there is, in fact, a higher power, she wants it to make a note that she’s not leaving him to his fate even though it’s tempting.

“Really.”

“You-” He draws in a ragged gasp and tries again. “You asked.”

The other two have vanished in the fog and she hopes to this theoretical higher power that they’ve gotten a good head start.

“Didn’t know you’d moved onto kids, Jack.” she calls, because if he catches her, maybe someone’ll have overheard this and be willing to share it. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

She finally has to turn a corner and now she sees him.

He could be anyone. The boys were right-he is a big man, big like one’a the back-alley brawlers Penguin hires sometimes when someone doesn’t make their payments. He’s got a bag in his hand and the smell of blood on him is only amplified by the humid air. She can’t see his face.

As he moves, she sees that he’s favoring his right leg a little. Not much, probably not enough, but it’s noticeable. Okay. Okay. She’s not sure what caused that (Dick mentioned him clutching it, maybe whoever he got got a hit in), but Penguin avoids certain streets when he can because they’re agony to walk on. Maybe she can lose him on one of those.

“If you kill me, you won’t be able to hide.” she warns. One of those streets is right up this way, if she’s quick… “My employer will take it as an insult, or a declaration of war, and he’ll tear these streets apart to get to you.”

Maybe. He’s very paranoid.

Jack passes under a lamp and she sees the gleam of a meat cleaver.

_Here._

She bolts down a side street, cobblestones hard under her shoes, and dashes down a neighboring alley. She hears him run too, a heavy tapping sound.

Well, shit.

“Pumme down.”

“Shut _up_ , Jason.”

“But-”

“I’ll throw you at him if it comes to that. Deal?”

She ducks back onto the main street. Jack’s nowhere to be seen and that’s worse, somehow, than knowing he’s right behind her.

If they’re going to empty the streets of citizens, they need to get some more officers down here.

Okay. Another block, that’s all, she can maybe make it if she runs now but she’d rather not because what if he pops out in front of her, huh?

“Where’re we goin’?”

“Shh.” Were those footsteps or the settling of the city? “We’re going to get you a doctor.”

“F’we don’ get murdered.”

“We’re not going to get murdered.” In theory. Maybe. Ideally. “Just be quiet.”

“Mm.”

A shadow flits by in the corner of her vision, but when she turns, there’s nothing there.

She knows sidewalks are for people and roads are for horses, but there’s no horses and if she’s in the middle of the road, he can’t pop out from an alley and yank them into it. She’ll just watch where she’s going, that’s all.

She’s barely stepped into the road when the fog ahead gets blown away, just a bit, and she sees a shape-top hat, Inverness cape, bag. How-

Never mind.

She darts back down the alley they came through, squeezes between a gap in the buildings, and presses up against a stack of crates. She’s got a view of the road from here. It’s maybe five minutes, now, less with no traffic, to home.

Jason swallows, fingers gripping her sleeve, and mumbles, “Pumme down, ‘ll be quiet an’ ‘e won’-”

“We’re almost home, hon, just shh.”

Okay. She doesn’t see him-

**SCHWING!**

SON OF A-

He misses her by _centimeters_ -the cleaver whistles past her ear and strikes the brick wall. Unfortunately for him, he topples the crates, clogging the ground and giving her the second she needs to _run for it._

She can hear him kicking his way through the wood, but that’s fine, she’s back out in the road, she can see the damn house. The other two boys are hovering on the porch.

“Open the door, open the door!”

It _is_ open-they duck in when she’s practically on the steps. Dick slams it after her and she’s suddenly very grateful that Penguin doesn’t like people ‘being able to look in’-there’s no windows in the foyer. Just a peephole.

She has to lean up on tiptoe to do it, but she looks out at the street.

Or. Where the street would be, if there weren’t a hat in the way.

The door’s locked, but they’re saying he’s gotten inside a few places now and that’s not as comforting a thought as it should be. She jerks her head towards the stairs and the boys go, looking from the door to the very, very expensive furnishings. They’re welcome to try for them-Penguin has half of them booby-trapped.

She feels a little safer once they’re in the guest bedroom with the door locked and bolted, but not much. Not enough. This room’s got a window.

Jason, at some point, has passed out, hand hanging limply towards the floor, and she tries not to jostle him when she sets him on the bed. Dick’s still clinging to her umbrella and it occurs to her that he could set it off. Whoops.

“Okay, I’ll take that…and my keys…thank you.” There’s no noise down there. Maybe he’s gone away. “I need to call a doctor for your brother, so I have to go back downstairs. I want you to _stay here_ , do you understand? You bolt the door and make sure the window’s locked, and I’ll be right back.”

“But…”

“It’ll be fine, Tim.” If only she felt as confident as she thinks she sounds. “He’s probably gone.”

Tim doesn’t look convinced. Neither does Dick, but he picks up the fireplace poker and puts on a brave face. Or. What she thinks _he_ thinks is a brave face. He mostly looks like he wants to be sick.

“Okay.”

“Good boys. Now just. Just stay quiet, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Provided the bastard hasn’t done something clever, like cut the phone lines or anything. Of all the nights for Penguin to stay late at the club…if she’s got time, she’s calling him. He’s asked for updates-the murder of the working girls is bad for business, after all-and oh, boy, is this ever an update.

And it’s tragic, it’s really tragic that her first instinct is to call her boss, the, ah, leader of Gotham’s seedier side, rather than the police.

Typical Gotham.

She makes her way downstairs, jumping at small noises, and checks the peephole. Nothing. Maybe he really is gone.

She should be so lucky…

The phone works, she finds out, and after calling for Penguin’s personal physician (he’ll take your secrets to the grave), she calls Penguin himself.

They’re busy tonight, sounds like, and he’s in a good mood-right up until she says, “So I might have been chased home by the Ripper.”

She can just _see_ his oily grin drop like wet clay.

“What.”

“I was coming home from delivering those letters you asked me to drop off, and, ah, long story short, I was beset upon by a knife-wielding maniac.

“Did you see his face?”

“No. No, but he’s a big man, six-something, easy, and he’s got a limp. Not enough to slow him down, I don’t think, but it’s there. Right leg.”

“Is he gone?”

“I don’t know. I just. You asked for updates, sir, I thought you’d want that one.”

“Mm.” He sounds…well, to be perfectly frank, he sounds politely furious. “Fine. Lock up. Call the police, though God knows they’re useless, and write down everything you remember about him, put it in my desk in case something…should happen.”

Gee. Thanks ever so much for the reassurance that all will be well, boss.

“Right away, Mister Cobblepot. I, uh…” It’s best to do this now, so he can come to terms. “I brought home guests. They saw him too, they might be helpful.”

“Hm. Good night, Miss Marquis.”

That went well.

* * *

The police and the doctor arrive at the same time. The doctor evicts Dick and Tim and the police swan about, supposedly looking for footprints. Dove suspects they’re just trying to look busy for a decent amount of time.

“Jay’s gonna be okay, right?”

“He’ll be just fine.” Tim clambers into her lap, wet hair glued to his face, and she stands up and carries him towards the kitchen. “How about some food, huh? S’been a long night.”

They end up with sandwiches. Dick’s halfway through his second one when Bullock raps on the door frame.

“Well?”

“Nothing.”

Of course nothing. If it had been a rich man chased home, there would be something.

“Helpful.” she snarks, and he narrows his eyes at her.

“We’ve just got your word for it that he was here at all.”

“We saw ‘im!”

“Boys-”

“We saw ‘im! We did! And we saw ‘im leanin’ over a woman in an alley off’a Berner Street.”

“What.”

Dick nods, eyes blazing, and it would be…maybe a little bit scary…if it weren’t for the crumbs around his mouth.

“He chased us! An’ he stabbed my brother.”

Bullock huffs but doesn’t actively dispute it.

“I’m going to send a couple of my men down that way, then. If your story checks out, we’ll talk.”

He returns to the porch just as the doctor-a dried apple core of a man named Took-makes his way into the kitchen, stripping off a pair of long gloves that have red stains on them.

“He’ll be fine.” he rasps, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders. “Small blade. See?”

He drops it on the table. It _is_ small, like one of Penguin’s contingency blades, small enough to keep in the palm of a hand. It’s thin, smooth-easy in, easy out-and the hilt is shiny silver, no markings.

Tim and Dick are both making a beeline for the stairs when Took reaches out and grabs them by the ears.

“He’ll be fine, but he’s resting. Don’t go pounding up there and disturb him.”

And. She didn’t warn him, she should have, but it’s too late-

Tim turns those big, watery, kicked-puppy eyes on the man and goddammit, Dick’s in on it too and he’s so, so much worse because he’s the sunshiny one-

Took hasn’t got a prayer.

“Quietly.” he says. “You can go up quietly.”

They go, somewhat quietly, and he turns to her.

“What is this about?”

“As I understand it, Jason found the Ripper in the middle of something.”

“Hm.” Took rubs his face and jerks his head towards the knife. “I imagine they’ll want that, then.”

“I don’t. They’re useless.”

“I imagine Mister Cobblepot will want that, then.”

Yes. She imagines so, too.

She tucks it into his drawer with her notes and heads upstairs to make sure Dick and Tim are at least trying to be quiet.

They are. They’re asleep-Tim’s plastered up against Jason’s side and Dick’s flung an arm over them both. Hilariously, the only one still awake _is_ Jason. He looks…miffed.

“Help me.”

“You’re fine.” She digs a couple of blankets out of the chest at the foot of the bed. “What were you thinking?”

He shrugs, clearly regrets it a minute later.

“I heard a scream. An’ I thought maybe I could get a reward, y’know? For ‘elpin’.” Sure. If that helps him sleep at night. “But by the time I got over there, she wasn’t. She was just on the ground an’ there was so much _blood_ , a-an’ this man. This man was crouchin’ over ‘er just…” He makes a slashing motion with the arm around Tim. “Over an’ over an’ over. She wasn’t even movin’ anymore. But I didn’…I didn’t even think about it, I jus’ went for ‘im, slashed ‘is knee but he was _fast_ an’…” He swallows. “Next thing I remember s’Dickie yellin’ at me for bein’ an idiot.”

“You scared him.” She reaches over to ruffle his hair. “Go to sleep, huh? He’s gone for now.”

“But e’s still out there.”

“Yeah.” And she won’t be surprised, not one bit, if he chases down someone else tonight in frustration. “Yeah, he is.”

Tim curls into a ball and Dick’s fingers tighten on his shirt. Jason stares self-pityingly at the ceiling.

“Get them off me.”

“Oh, no. I know where you all are this way, it’s better.” She wraps the blankets around the other two. “I have to go see about the police. You need anything, just shout.”

“Death. The sweet release of death.”

“Besides that. Sweet dreams.”

Despite his complaining, he tucks his head under Dick’s and pulls Tim a little closer. He’s still scowling, though.

Dove shuts the door and goes back downstairs. It’s been a long night.

THE END

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
